


Gateway Drug

by slushieSkank



Category: Don't Hug Me I'm Scared (Short Film)
Genre: Multi, Shrignold is a fucking piece of shit, if I can make even one person ship this shit my career as a writer will have merit., is this shipping? what would you even call this ship?, not my ot3 but a new 3 way ship for you I guess., vaguely nsfw I guess?, what the fuck two new fics on one day holy shit.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 01:15:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2794424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slushieSkank/pseuds/slushieSkank
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drag me down to a deeper love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gateway Drug

**Author's Note:**

> what the fuck another Spill Canvas songfic this time featuring everyone's favorite not-bee.  
> http://grooveshark.com/s/Gateway+Drug/32djq3?src=5  
> a story of addiction, fear, and abandoning ones moral principles and scruples in favor of living a life of reckless violent hedonism.

He paces in small circles, alone. Minute feet leave impressions in the scarce-used carpet. It's late. Two in the morning. He can't remember the last time he slept. Four days ago. They won't get out of his head. The insectoid man breathes hard, braces himself on his bed frame, stares with eyes wide, but unseeing, into shadows.

He's been thinking about them more and more since they met. Lately, it's been nonstop. All because of that sweet yellow child. He was too pure, too good for this world. They didn't deserve him. None of them did, really, but especially not those two corrupted demons masquerading around under the guise of “educators.” Teachers, they think. Monsters, he knows. For weeks, now, he's woken up in the middle of the night, drenched in perspiration, unable to tell himself if the images he's seen in his head are dreams or nightmares. He's been hallucinating, newly, just this evening.

“All alone in the still of my apartment... D-double take, apparitions in the darkness.”

The sound of his own voice startles him slightly. Rhymes that would ordinarily placate him only serve to further stir up agitation. Hands shake, chest heaves. He clutches at his antennae, yanks them, yelps, stops, storms over to the window. Storms away from the window back to the bed. Punches the air. Punches the mattress. Punches a hole in the wall. Whines. Storms back over to the window. Slams the frame up with enough force that he actually shatters the ancient glass pane. He throws one arm up to shield his face from the falling debris.

He picks up one leg, climbs into the empty frame, ignores the enormous shards cutting into his legs, and leaps. Never mind the door, there's too much at stake for that. As his body comes into contact with the air, brightly patterned wings materialize from the cape he sports, flutter rapidly, send him rocketing off in a new direction.

As he travels, he tells himself he's only going to set things right, to confront them, to set the record straight and get them to either shape up or ship out. A small, ugly voice in the back of his mind chimes in, whispers truths he would sooner dismiss as lies. _You're kidding yourself. You want them, you need them. Their lives, their freedom. You've gotten a taste of the forbidden fruit and now you want the whole damn fig._

He alights on a wall outside of a lit window on a second story. Crawls until he's staring in, upside-down, catches sight of her.

“There you are. I'm a fiend, I gotta have it. Need a fix, my dangerous habit...”

She doesn't seem to hear his feverish whispers through the glass, caught up in her own world. She attacks a canvas, a fire blazes in her eyes. Not with traditional paints, no, she lacerates it with steak knives. Her movements are fierce and hard, enraged. A can of black spray paint blocks out streaks of maroon and burnt umber, then she sets the canvas alight, knowing the chemicals will have no choice but to burn.

She puts it out by hurling it at the wall, the piece colliding with a thud that rattles the frame of the house, just under the only window. That's when she sees him. He shrinks back, but her smile turns warm and inviting. Crossing over, she releases the lock, slides the screen up. Unhesitatingly, he crawls inside, flips down to the floor, immediately moves into her space.

The words tumble from his lips, tripping over themselves, a guilt-ridden confession he can no longer hold within.

“You are my gateway drug, you pull me down, you mess me up. You are my gateway drug, you give me a taste for the harder stuff. And I don't wanna stop.”

He can't lie any longer, not to himself, nor to anyone else. The voice chimes in again. _Will you really do it? Abandon all of them, Malcolm, your friends? They who took you in when no one else would? Turn your back on your beliefs, and everything you've ever put any value in?_ He wants to answer, but her mouth over his sandblasts any other thoughts from his mind. The taste is heady, intoxicating, warm. As though he's being pulled into an inescapable undertow, at once familiar and foreign, a comfort he never wants to leave.  
  
“Innocent, I was naive when we started. Got so high, we descended to dependence.”

She smiles against the corner of his mouth, “Quitting is so hard...”

“Cold sweat, I'm shaking with my teeth clenched. Appetite for the rush, the thrill, I _need_ it...”

She silences any doubts he may have had permanently, sinking her teeth into the skin on his throat. He tilts his head back with a soft sound, eyes drifting closed, arms wrapping around her. The door to the room opens, but neither of them move. The sound of footfalls crosses the room, and a new set of arms joins the pair, soft growls and vicious love nips.

He whispers his promise to the other, now.

“You are my gateway drug, you pull me down, you mess me up. You are my gateway drug, you give me a taste for the harder stuff. And I don't wanna stop. No, I don't wanna stop...”  
  
The clock's hand winds into his hair, pull his head back, incisors and canines sinking into soft yielding flesh. A permanent mark once it scars over, a sign that he belongs to them now. Beside the new player, her inhales ghost into his collarbone, tongue flicking in and out, lapping the iron-laden nectar flowing free. His vision swims, he reaches out for stability, pulling one closer, the other following afterward.

“You're breathing on my neck and I feel weak. The lights that burn my eyes play hide and seek. I get a little closer to you, and you move a little closer to me.”  
  
A few short minutes ago, yet it felt like a lifetime. His entire life's course irrevocably changed over a split second decision. He won't be returning to the empty bedroom again.

' _All alone in the still of my apartment... D-double take, apparitions in the darkness._ '

The three sink slowly to the carpeting, a cacophony of bites. Kissing, clawing, marking, the intent to leave scars and impressions, a show of territoriality, none of them wanted to lose, yet it was impossible to triumph.

In his mind, a final promise, the kind of frenetic devotion he couldn't let himself give to his ex-king.

' _I lose myself in you._ '  
  
“You are my gateway drug, you pull me down, you _fuck_ me up.”

A soft growl, the third voice. “You are my gateway drug, you give me a taste for the harder stuff. You are my gateway drug.”

Almost in tears, he speaks again, “I can't tell when I've had enough.”

She returns his first words to him, a dedication. “You are my gateway drug.”

“Drag me down to a deeper love.”

Something about this, it's purer than the love he'd found in his cult, despite it's filth. It feels truer. Its roots ran deeper, anchored further, embedded itself far beyond the surface. He knows he's found home.

“I don't wanna stop... No, I don't wanna stop.”


End file.
